Persecution
by VeneficaMelody
Summary: AU. Starring Rogue, in a new world where mutants are actively hunted and killed by the government. She ends up trapped in a concentration camp for mutants, with a guard that we all know. Logan.
1. Prologue

Author's Note: I haven't written in a long time, and found this unfinished story on my hard drive. I'll be updating it as much as possible, though I'm going to college, so it may take a while. Please enjoy!

My life began baptized in blood, when my mother fell beneath the soldier's guns as she fled. For her freedom, for mine, my mother risked her life by running in the darkness of night. Fleeing from the oppression of our government, which rules with violence and tyranny, my mother was a self-proclaimed freedom fighter. She deserted my father after he proved to be a stinking coward, refusing to fight for the People. I learned, much later after she fell, that my father didn't even mourn her passing. I was merely a babe in my mother's arms then, as she died, her warm blood coating my face.

God must have been looking down on me, for the soldiers passed by, merely kicking my mother's cooling corpse as they passed on their way to kill more revolutionaries. A passing Good Samaritan heard my cries after the cold began seeping into my bones, and took me in. He became my father, and his wife, my mother. As I grew, they taught me the lessons that my own mother would have taught me, had she lived. Those of self-preservation, fighting against the oppressive government that would still our voices with the sharp blast of a gun. Living in fear is something that my parents fought against.

Today is my sixteenth birthday. I do not often celebrate the occasion, because it reminds me of the day my mother was taken from me. Sometimes I think that, if it hadn't been for my birth only hours before the soldier's came, she would still be fighting them. But on this day, I allow myself to feel slightly happy, smelling the sea air and feeling the crash of the waves against my bare feet. Oh, how beautiful is my village of Xiandu! This world is one of mixed cultures, all taken from the world's different language and customs. After an alliance between some of the most power Asian countries, the rest of the world fell to their power. Although my village lies in what was once America, its' roots are Asian thanks to the influences of our world leaders.

"Rouge!"

My name is called, and I relish in the sound. It is taken from my real mother's heritage: a rogue against this nation that we fight against.

I turn, feeling the warm sand beneath my feet. My father stands, smiling, holding out a large, calloused hand. I follow him blindly, onto the rolling sand and away from the lure of the ocean. "Xiandu is falling," he grumbles softly, a whisper that I can barely hear. "The uprising against mutants is swift, and nearing our village. Your mother and I can escape unscathed, if we leave now."

His words his me like a hurricane's winds. My father and mother, fleeing for their lives? Just like the day of my birth, all over again… I always knew that my parents were mutants, that Xiandu was one of the last strongholds for their kind. But could the government really move against them?

"Papa…"

"If you have any mutant abilities, they haven't manifested yet. You'll be safe for the time being. The Army will pass you over, Rogue; they've got special devices to ferret out those hiding mutant powers."

I feel as if I cannot breathe; I see the familiar form of our hut in front of me, my mother scurrying around as she packs up necessities. They are leaving me here, to suffer as the Army troops through? "Mutants are not a threat!" I yell, the truth pushing its way past my constricted throat. Why doesn't the government see that? We're not…"

"There is no 'we'!" my father cries angrily, his hand slashing out to connect with my cheek, stinging even as it is gently done. "You are not a mutant, dammit," he growls. "Never connect yourself thusly, do you understand? It could mean your death, Rogue! If they believe you are even just a sympathizer…"

My head bows as I enter the hut slightly before Papa, seeing my mother's hopeless eyes as she finishes tying up a sack of dried meat for their long and dangerous journey. This is supposed to be a day of joy, my birthday, I cry silently to myself as I throw myself into the effort of aiding my parents. These are the people who saved me from certain death and loved me as I grew. It is the least I can do, to help them.

They will have to move swiftly, ahead of the Army, if they are to remain safe. Persecution against mutants has grown, with the arrival of a new leader to further oppress the People. Hugging them swiftly, I watch as my parents disappear under the cover of twilight. The sun is setting on my birthday, a day that turns out to be one of fear and flight. I can only pray that my parents reach their destination safely…


	2. Chapter 1

The bus is crowded, full of sweaty people mingling with strangers. Their destinations are a mystery to me, but I do not care where they are going. What matters to me is the truth of the newspaper in the leather bag at my side. The headlines scream that our new leader has lifted the ban on mutants: sympathizes with them. If that is true, then my people can come from hiding. Although my mutant powers made their appearance late in my life, I am relieved for the slight reprieve that I was offered before I could no longer be touched safely.

My only great thanks for this power is that the soldiers cannot apprehend me without great risk to themselves. I am Rogue, the head of the White Panther revolutionary group. We strike hard against government establishments and the soldiers, melting back into the darkness. One of my subordinate's alerted me to the newspaper's headlines, proclaiming that our new leader is friend to all mutants. Is it merely a dirty trick, or earnest truth? That is why I have entered the city of ZenZen to find out.

ZenZen is the capital city, named for the Japanese word. In the language, it mean's "nothing." The city was first proclaimed Shento, Mountaintop, before it fell beneath a surge of fire. Now it is ZenZen, the finest city in all of Asian-ruled America.

To make the tedious bus ride go faster, I pull out the newspaper, thumbing through with fingers already smudged with newsprint. There, the article that I have read so often, buried among other praises of the new leader.

Today, our new president, Hank McCoy, has proclaimed a full pardon for all mutants. Those who fled the country in front of Army soldiers will be welcomed back with no persecution. President McCoy further states that "… anyone of mutant ancestry that wishes to augment any dormant powers may do so through a new government-funded program." Sounds like a trap to me, if this guy isn't for real.

Closing the newspaper, I sigh and close my eyes as I lay it on my lap. It sounds like an idyllic arrangement, but who knows if it's really the truth? I have seen my people tortured, murdered in cold blood, maimed, all because they stand by their beliefs, or because they were born with an extra gene.

"Next stop, ZenZen Imperial Bus Station!"

There it is, my stop announced in the bus driver's slightly accented Chinese. Thanks to my early lessons from my parents, I am fluent in five languages, not including my native English. You almost have to be, to survive in today's world.

I gather up my things, stuffing the newspaper back into my bag. If the president's aims are true, then I can find my parents. It's been so long since I've seen them…

One thing about the president's speech that bothers me is the claim to tap into dormant mutant powers. Why would perfectly normal humans want to deform themselves? It doesn't make sense to a person like myself, who has lived in fear for years, hiding my powers and true self. It's been so difficult, shielding my skin from accidental touches that might expose me…

Departing from the bus, the hells of my boot clacking against the metal steps, I take a deep breath of the chilly air. There will be snow soon; the scent is all around us. Other people push from behind in their rush to get from the bus. Moving sluggishly to allow their movement, I feel as if I am moving deep underwater. Nothing has seemed real since I read of the president's intentions.

ZenZen is a city of mixed people, with many mutants that hide themselves in plain sight. The mutant-seeking devices that were in use when my parents were forced to run have been proven to be only a hoax. The government never had any such power; they just wanted the mutants to fear them. It was the fear they sighted in the eyes of those mutants that they used to ferret out the "affected" population.

The press conference the president is holding is already starting; I can feel the tension in the air as a few soft snowflakes start to fall. Trudging down the sidewalk, I hold my bag tightly against my side. I hear the patois of conversation that makes up a large city like ZenZen: Vietnamese on this corner, French on that, a mixture of American and Japanese there. I can understand it all, thanks to my father who felt that languages were a great asset in this world.

I don't know exactly where the press conference is. I know that it's in a courtyard, but I don't know how to get there. I see an old Chinese lady, her feet so tiny as to be unimaginable, braced against the wall of her red-brick house for support as she peers up at the falling snowflakes with squinty eyes.

"Excuse me, Grandmother," I say respectfully in Chinese, bowing to her. "Can you tell me where the Yume Courtyard is located? I'm trying to attend the conference with the new president."

The woman peers at me with dark eyes, t hen her lips split in a toothy smile. "Ah! You seek the Courtyard of Dreams, eh?" She chortles, nodding her head. "That new president is creating quite a stir among the population. Old Ah-fu knows where he is. She knows why he loves mutants, too!"

Swiftly following the woman's accented Chinese, I feel that I have finally found someone who can give me a break. This old woman seems to be very knowledgeable, and that is something that I need. "Why, Old Grandmother? Why does this man support the mutant population when no one else will?"

"Because he is one!" Ah-fu exclaims in a burst of ginger-scented breath. I feel wary; this woman knows little of what she is talking about. But she seems lucid enough; I will trust her to get me to Yume Courtyard. Ah-fu shakes her head, grinning. "Ahh, so you don't believe old Ah-fu. What does it take to convince a young, empowered revolutionary leader?"

I still, my blood chilling. How can this old woman know that I am the leader of a power group? Her snaggletooth grin catches my attention, and I know. Codename: Lotus, this woman is a mutant of unnatural powers, one of the unnamed benefactors behind White Panther's success. I open my mouth to speak, but the woman shakes her head, touching a wrinkled finger to her lips.

"Come now. I will take you to the Courtyard of Dreams, and we'll see why this man loves mutants so, eh?"

I accept the woman's offer of guidance, and help her down the street as she points the way. She hobbles precariously, teetering on feet the size of a baby's. It is hard for me to believe that this old wrinkled, half-crippled woman is Lotus, a hot-tempered warrior of the revolution. Although I am the leader of White Panther, I have never before met Lotus, the female that seemed so strong and youthful. She pens letters of such vitality that I believed the stories in which she infiltrated enemy camps, using her unique abilities to ease the suffering of mutants who had been captured by the government. Lotus sends much money, wrapped in tiny red packages, for the benefit of our renegades. If the president's words are truth, mutants won't have to hide anymore.

Should we dare hope?

"Hank McCoy empowers mutants because he himself is one," Ah-fu says as she hobbles along carefully, her steps mincing as she leans heavily on my arm. She has said nothing about the long gloves I wear, the cape that shields me and the hood that covers my head. Surely she believes it is because of the weather, but I do not admit that it is my skin that prompts the full body covering. "This new leader wishes to emancipate all of those who have been persecuted by the previous regimes. We mutants will be free to do as we will, assuming it isn't evil-natured."

"I could see my parents again…" I whisper, emotion momentarily taking over as I think of my adoptive parents, who had taken care of me.

"Mutants, too?" Ah-fu asks softly, her eyes catching my gaze with sympathy.

"Yes," I whisper. "Driven away when the Army attacked my village/ I was young; I hadn't yet gotten my abilities, so I was spare from the deluge of those escaping. But, still…"

Ah-fu snuffles, pausing momentarily as she gauges the proper direction and then we set off again. "My parents were traditionalists, very set in the old ways. My mother's ability was healing others with a touch; my father was normal. They loved each other, though, no matter if they weren't the same. We fled China when the government brought up the idea to kill all mutants on Chinese soil." The woman let out a noise of irritation. "My mother's bound feet slowed her down so much, she soon fell behind. I was so small, my father could carry me much quicker than Mama could move. She eventually could no longer move forward, her feet bleeding and refusing to move… Her perfect golden lotuses were my mother's death sentence," Ah-fu hissed. "That is why I, myself, took up the mantle of tiny feet and adopted the codename Lotus. I am my mother's revenge against the governments who persecute our kind for no reason."

As the old woman's impassioned speech comes to a close, I see that we are nearing the courtyard. There is tension in the air, and I can hear a man's voice projected on loudspeakers. "… the people with the gene that makes them 'different' will no longer be hunted. The former leaders were blinded with fear; I will not make that mistake. If you are a mutant, or have loved ones who are mutants, you can now live without fear. Use your powers openly, live your life as you were truly meant to. No longer will mutants be killed for who they are!"

I strain for a glimpse of the speaker, but the crowd obscured my vision. "A man of greatness," Ah-fu whispers at my side, sinking to sit on the filthy pavement. Her feet are surely aching badly after the walk on her crippled feet. I do not understand why the Chinese ever began the practice of foot binding, but I do not hate them for it. If my most dependable benefactor is an elderly Chinese grandmother with bound feet, I will not judge her. It was pure luck that we met on the street, and I do not begrudge her merely because her finely penned letters were a bit misleading.

I spot a tree in the distance, and I inform the old woman that I will climb it, searching for a better view. I can hear the president's words echoing through the loud speaker, but they are not enough. How can I judge the man if I can't see his face as he speaks these carefully scripted words?

Clambering up the tree, I see the marks on the bark where others have attempted the same move. Were they pulled down by the olive-green uniformed soldiers I see lingering with guns casually slung over their shoulders? Instead of worrying about the consequences, I peer toward the stage. The man speaking is full-figured, sporting a chiseled jaw. The finely-cut suit he wears proclaims his success, his power.

"Down from there!" The command is abrupt, spare of words. Glancing down from my precarious position, I see a soldier, his face twisted in a mask of irritation. One of the enforcers who makes sure that the president is safe; a man of action.

Sighing at being torn from my seat where I have such a perfect view, I shrug and lithely drop to the ground. Better to cooperate than to be clubber, or forcibly shaken from the tree. Smiling warmly, I turn to find Ah-fu. I probably shouldn't leave the woman alone for too long. Although she's a freedom fighter, she's also an old woman with bound feet, and that makes her vulnerable. Before I can spot the old woman in the crowd, I feel a sharp pain in my shoulders and fall to the ground as everything goes black.


	3. Chapter 2

One of the first things I notice upon awakening is my splitting headache, and then the awful odor. It smells as if an army of pigs had soiled here, one after the other, and then released gas before moving on. Groaning at the pain I experience, I cautiously blink open one eye and peer at the slatted ceiling, which allows a few chinks of sunlight to filter through.

"So you've finally awoken, little sister. We were worried about you." I turn toward the voice, and my heart seems to stop. A blue-skinned demon peers at me, the fires of hell burning in his eyes.

I scream, lifting my upper body up and scooting backwards until I am pressed against a wall. "You… you…" My throat closes, and I cannot speak. Have the soldiers sent me to be a meal for a demon?

The demon grins, his eyes sparking--the hellfire seems to draw me deeper. "I am glad you won't suffer any lasting effects from the soldiers battering," he says, his voice thick with an accent. Polish? German? I shake myself, not finding the need to identify the demon's words.

"So you'll have a healthy meal you can torture?" I sneer before I can catch myself. Oh, dear, what the hell am I doing?

Laughing, the demon bows gracefully and retreats a few paces. "Forgive me, little one. I am not trying to frighten you. I have been in this prison so long, where the soldiers do not bat an eye, that I have forgotten how scary my appearance can be to the uninitiated." He crouches quite a few feet away, a reasonable distance, and inclines his head.

He falls silent, and I study him a little closer as I wait for the pounding in my head to cease. His skin is blue, yes, but it is also run through with black. Tattoos, symbols that make no sense to me, but there appears to be an Asian character or two thrown in with the runes and hieroglyphs. "Symbols of my religion," he informs me as he sees where my gaze has landed.

I snap my eyes back up to his face, and thin my lips. Am I in danger, or is this demon a prisoner as well? "Who are you?" I say softly, my throat still constricted from my earlier fear.

"My name," he says smoothly, "is Nightcrawler. I am a mutant, like you."

I stiffen at his words. "How do you know I am a mutant?" I demand, fear making my voice rise.

Nightcrawler shrugs, then gestures to encompass the entire room. "You wouldn't have been thrown in here if you weren't. This is one of the barracks at the mutant detainment center."

A frown descends on my face and I shake my head. "I don't understand. Doesn't the new president respect mutants? Why should we be kept imprisoned?"

Before the demon -- mutant -- can answer, my stomach rumbles so loudly that I know he can hear it. He nods wordlessly, and before I can blink, he disappears in a puff of black smoke and I can smell the earlier brimstone (how can I recognize such a scent?) that I glimpsed in his eyes. I hear another poof, and see the blue devil now crouched in a different corner, lifting up a tarnished steel bowl. He ambles over and holds it out to me. I am wary, but accept it and pull off the covering. Inside is a hunk of bread and a halfway decent round of cheese. Looking up at the demon, I see the truth in his hellfire eyes.

"You are hungry, and you shall have food," he says simply. "For your earlier question, the new president knows nothing of what goes on in this camp. It's one of the leftovers from the earlier anti-mutant campaigns. President McCoy hasn't quite found all of the strongholds that captured mutants."

I know the second stirring of fear as the words are digested. "How many mutants are being kept here?" I pause. "And if you can… transport… yourself, why don't you just leave this place?"

"I do not know the number, fraulein," he says, his voice apologetic. "I see only a few when we are released for our daily workload. We work in shifts, I think, so that we cannot plan an escape. Besides, outside of these barracks, our powers are locked by these special bracelets." The Nightcrawler holds out his hand so that I can see the silver band around his wrist. I look down, and for the first time realize that I there is a bracelet on my wrist, as well. My bare wrist. Oh, dear saints, my entire body is bare! Where are my clothes?! With an embarrassed glance, I notice that the Nightcrawler is naked, as well. A flush spreads across my cheeks as I understand all of this.

"Do not worry," he said softly, his voice meant to be comforting. "There have been other female mutants thrown into this chamber with me, and they have all left as pristine as they arrived."

I frown. "Why were they removed?"

He casts his gaze downward. "Sometimes, angering the guards, or being transported to other facilities. One of the guards has a problem with shuffling us like cattle, so we get more room than other detainees. They have come here with awful stories; this place is like heaven, they say. We're lucky."

He pauses, then his tail -- oh, shit, a tail! -- flicks angrily. "I can transport only short distances, so that I can use my powers during the work detail. You'll find that your powers are also still functional, but barely. I can't transport myself to freedom, because the first three tries I would still be within firing range, and be killed."

I nod, and then laugh. "Whoever put that bracelet on me is probably still recovering. Unfortunately, though, my power won't be of much use for any work."

"Recovering?" The demon's (I know he is a mutant, so why can't I stop seeing him as a demon?) voice is quizzical.

"My power is that of absorption," I say stiffly. "Whoever touches my skin finds their energy, health, memories, and powers if any, to be reverted directly to me. The person is knocked out indefinitely."

The Nightcrawler made an exclamation of surprise, and -- is that admiration? "That guard is surely angry with you, little one!"

I nod, and start to speak again. Before I can, there is a sound outside the hut. "The guards!" The demon starts, scurrying to my side. "Pretend to still be out, fraulein! That way, they cannot make you work, and there will still be some rest provided to you."

"No. I will work." My determination is strong. If mutants are still being forced to work, who am I to pretend to still be unconscious so I'll have an extra day before I join their ranks?

The Nightcrawler shoots me a look of exasperation before the door opens, the sun following with blinding force. "Let's go, elf!" The voice is rough, but the silhouette is short. Shorter than I would expect a guard to be, and it surprises me momentarily.

My companion gets to his feet and shuffles toward the door. He intentionally blocks me so that the guard can't see me, but it appears that the man has the senses of a wolf. He seems to sniff the air, and then he pushes the demon aside. "Girl! You, too. Everyone works!" It is a command that I can't deny. If I do, who knows what will happen? I don't look forward to being tortured, or removed from my hellish companion. He is frightening in appearance, but the Nightcrawler isn't so bad.

Struggling to my feet, I take a breath to steady myself and proudly walk toward the door. I won't cower; my parents taught me better than that. I gaze coldly at the guard who moves to allow me out of the stuffy hut. He sneers at me, reaching a large hand up to tangle in the skein of red hair that is tangled and matted.

"Redheads are fuckin' trouble," he growls. "You trouble, Red?"

"The name's Rogue," I say steadily, realizing that I omitted introducing myself to Nightcrawler.

"Name means trouble," the guard mutters, his fingers tightening in my hair. "Gotta beat it outta ya, girl?"

Mustering up a well of self control that I didn't know existed, I smile sweetly and wink at the guard. "Might wanna be careful of me, sugar. Didn't your ol' friend who attached this bracelet warn yah?"

The man barks with laughter and slightly loosens his hold, only to push me away so that I stumble momentarily. "I ain't afraid of your kind." That is all he says before he stalks away. After a moment of gazing at me sympathetically, Nightcrawler scurries after the guard.

"Come, fraulein," he calls anxiously. "The work is to begin shortly!"

I long to run toward the fence that I see in the distance, finding a way out of this prison, but I don't want my actions to reflect on my new companion. Would they harm him if I managed to escape? It's a possibility that I don't want to test until I have a little more experience in this place. Resigned, I follow the Nightcrawler, easily keeping sight of his blue skin in the midafternoon sun. I regret slightly that I didn't get a chance to eat the bread that the blue demon offered me, but surely more food will be waiting after the work.

The work is easily sketched out: we are building a dam that will benefit the city of Zenzen, so we can't be too far from the capital city. If that is so, then why hasn't the president located this camp and disbanded it? As I carry logs twice my size, thankful for the draining of a mutant of super strength a few years ago who offered his services to my cause, I carefully take stock of the camp.

There seem to be twenty different barracks, all of them spaced an equal fifty feet apart. What appears to be a guardhouse, quite larger than each of the barracks, is situated in the middle of the camp, which is enclosed by a high, barbed-wire covered fence. Electrical, probably, as well, but I don't feel like testing that theory. I hesitantly make a few hurried

calculations. Twenty barracks, and if there are two mutant detainees in each hut, that makes forty detainees. Not a lot when you consider we're building a dam, but at least it isn't overly crowded. I've seen about five guards, not counting the one that roused Nightcrawler and myself. There are eight other detainees outside for work detail, which makes ten altogether. Five barracks emptied, six soldiers guarding us. Overwhelming odds for the

guards if our powers were at their peak, but they've planned for that eventuality.

All of this depends on the assumption that there are actually only two detainees in each hut, all of which are quite large and could house many more without it feeling cramped. Did the camp have to release a large number when McCoy came in the presidential seat so as not to arouse suspicion?

But no, that's foolish. If the mutants were released and heard about the president's mutant sympathies, surely they would inform him of the camp! So, had they been killed? Most likely.

"Move it, Red!"

The nickname seems to have stuck, and I feel myself prodded by the primitive but sharp spear that many of the guards are sporting along with their holstered guns. "Fuck you," I growl, jerking away from the sharp edge as I shoulder yet another log.

A harsh laugh is the only answer the guard offers as he smirks at me and stalks away. I shoulder the logs again, throwing myself back into my work. I will bide my time and decide what to do after the cloak of night has fallen. I won't remain in a mutant camp; my parents raised me better than to give up and stay as a prisoner. My name says it all, as does my heritage from my mother.

****

The harsh sun is beating down on my head during the second day of work. It

isn't as easy as yesterday's; now, we toil in the heat of the high sun, and I feel the strain. Did the guards feel that we got it too easy previously?

"Careful with those rocks, Red." The rough voice of the short guard meets my ears, and I peer up at him through a veil of sweat. "Wouldn't want you fallin' before the work's done, now would we?" He leers, a smoking cigar clamped tightly between his teeth.

I close my eyes briefly, then turn back to my work. It's no use rising to the jabs that the humans offer so freely. I am part of a superior race, but they are using us as slave labor to further their cause. Taking a deep breath, I drop the rock that I have been hauling to a primitive grinder that is being powered by a large, solid-steel mutant.

I have noticed over the hours that I have worked tirelessly that the supplies I cart, that are mashed and molded by other mutants using their powers, are not taken to the river. They are stockpiled just barely out of sight, but if one is alert as they are being herded back to the barracks, it isn't hard to miss. If a dam isn't being built, why are these supplies

being gathered? I resolve to ask Nightcrawler tonight if he has spoken to any detainees who have worked on the actual dam.

"Pick up that rock!" the short guard commands. "That ain't where it belongs, Red!"

I glare at him, my spirit suddenly flaring in full force. "What of it?" I cry. "It's no concern of mine if your precious dam is built. Zenzen isn't even my home!"

I feel the blinding pain just seconds after I see the man's hand flying at my face. It feels as if my cheek is slit into a thousand different ribbons of flesh, and I feel the warmth of blood running freely. I do not cower, though. I stare defiantly at the man, the side of my face a mess from a knife that came from-- somewhere. From where did this guard palm a blade so sharp that it could slash my face without my even seeing it?

The man frowns at me, his gaze stony, and then he walks away. "Get back to work," he commands gruffly. I watch him leave, carefully scanning his body, his hands, but I do not see a weapon. Does this man hide a blade within his sleeve, palming it to dole out punishment as needed?

"Maybe not so smart," an accented voice says from behind me. I turn, peering through a haze of pain that now threatens me. The man is dark-skinned from the sun, his blue eyes sparkling as he smiles at me. I recognize this man: the Russian, who can turn his body into complete steel as he wishes. He's very useful for physical labor. I wonder if he gets tired?

"Smart enough," I mutter. "Got him to leave, didn't it?"

I won't admit it, not even to this seemingly kind-hearted Russian, but I feel something odd whenever I see the short guard. He's very rough around the edges, probably tough to make up for the shortness that gets him teased. The other guards call him "Shrimp" because of his height, and I know that's probably something that isn't easy to take. Must he take it out on the detainees, though?

"Sometimes, not seeing your foe is even worse than being face to face," the Russian informs me before he moves off, seeing that I won't be receptive to any offers of help.

I wipe ineffectively at the blood on my face, taking a breath to steady myself. I see Nightcrawler's sympathetic gaze, but he doesn't stop in his work to see if I'm okay. To do so would be to open himself for violence from the guards. I won't begrudge him for looking out for his own safety; we're only bunkmates, not sworn friends. I hasten to the pump that is closest; there are icy cold water pumps located through the camp for the

days, and that has to last a long time. I'm only thankful that it's only Nightcrawler and myself in our little 'home' or we would be fighting for sustenance.

Exerting myself to pump out a goodly portion of water, I plumge my hands

into the icy liquid, raising some to splash on my face. I groan out loud at the pain as the freezing water meets my slashed skin, but I do not hesitate as I continue to clean my face. Hopefully that guard will understand that I'm not one to complain if I am injured, and leave me alone in the future.

When finally I feel myself ready to return to work, I dump the excess water out of the crudely-fashion wooden pan that was resting at the bottom of the pump. I turn to rejoin the ranks of workers, but I see that the yard is deserted. I was so involved in caring for myself that I didn't hear the guards calls of return to barracks. I can easily find my assignment with Nightcrawler by following the paths, but can I get in unmolested? The

guards would probably think that I'm trying to attempt a break-out and get rough.

"You've got a lot of spunk, Red." Oh, shit. Not him again! "I think I like it."

I turn, wary, and face the short guard. "What the fuck do you want?" I growl, my eyes narrowed. This man can't scare me. I know his trick, now; that hidden blade won't fool me again.

He chuckles, revealing sparkling white teeth. Odd, considering how many cigars I've seen him smoking. "You're courageous, girl, I'll give you that. Most of these other pansies would have been falling at my feet and screaming, holding their faces."

I shrug, turning toward the path that I know would return me to my barracks. "Look, I'll just go back and bunk with 'Crawler. No trouble to you."

I'm not afraid, I just don't want any more trouble. I don't want to stand out from the ranks of the others; I just want to blend in and become invisible, just another mutant working under duress. At least, until I can make my escape. I start to walk away, but am stopped by a strong hand on my shoulder. "Wait." His voice is soft, more so than I've ever heard before, and his other hand comes up to trace the mangled skin of my cheek. "Sorry

'bout that, beauty. Guess I got a little carried away. You're just so… Damn!" His voice changes suddenly, and he jerks away, an emotion I can't define flaring in his eyes. "Go!" he bellows, his hands shaking as he stumbles back a few steps.

What have I done? I wonder constantly as I hurry back to my quarters. There's nothing that I did or said to make the man react as he did, so what happened? I hesitate briefly outside my 'home', studying the design. It is made of roughly-hewn timber, with quite a few chinks that allow weather and sunlight to filter through. Thirteen feet by thirteen, with just enough room for our basic needs not to overflow into our sleeping area. We aren't crowded, but at least it's just the two of us. The roof is slanted, so at least most of the rain will sluice off, flooding the ground around the building. There should be a ditch dug around the structure, but there isn't. Do they want us to drown when a torrential rain comes?

Enough time for my perusal; it might get me in trouble if I linger any longer. I hurry inside, seeing Nightcrawler's worried eyes light up at the sight of me. "Fraulein!" he exclaims. "Oh, I was so worried!" I grin, shrugging as he hurries over to make sure that I'm unharmed except for my face.

"Nothing too bad," I say to console him. "I guess that guard's got a few tricks up his sleeve, huh?"

"Please forgive me for not helping you, fraulein," he says quickly. "If the guards hadn't been so close by…"

"It is forgotten," I reassure him as I sink down in a corner, gratefully feeling the hard-packed earth beneath me.

Nightcrawler hurries to the corner where our supplies -- a little food, some water -- are stored, and holds out a hunk of break and a bowl of soupy porridge. Our rations for the three-day period, I realize. I frown, my ire coming back in full. "How the hell do they expect us to survive on one bowl of rice porridge for three days?" I cry angrily.

"It is okay, fraulein," my companion tries to reassure me. "There is still bread that I have saved from the last three-day time. It will get us by."

"That was a single person portion," I remind him. "We do much hard work in a days' time, and we can't expect a few nibbles of bread to sustain us. This is inhumane!"

"We are not human," Nightcrawler says morosely. I realize that he, more than some of us, would understand that harshly because of his less-than-human appearance.

"No, we aren't," I agree. "We are _homo sapiens superior_. Humans cannot touch us; we are far greater than they."

These ideas of greatness have never passed my mind before; why do they do so now? Perhaps because I am being held against my will by humans who don't understand our kind, or because I feel sympathy for Nightcrawler, who has obviously never felt safe, or wanted, in the human world? Maybe I will never know, I muse quietly to myself as I see Nightcrawler's look that makes me feel guilty for my words.

"Just because we are different," he says matter of factly, "doesn't mean that we are any better than the humans."

I shrug, offering a sheepish smile. "Thoughts that aren't my own," I mutter as I begin spooning the lukewarm porridge into my mouth.

"Then why do you speak them, if you do not believe them?"

It is a logical question, one that stumps me momentarily. I hesitate in my eating, glad that I am able to portion accordingly for whatever might lay ahead. Finally, I speak. "I have always been free from the persecution that I find here. I travel to Zenzen to hear the president speak, and I find myself in a prison! I feel, honestly, that mutants aren't meant to be harmed or hated just because we aren't normal humans. Does a circumstance of birth automatically make us inferior?"

Nightcrawler is silent; I understand that he feels uncertain, and will not speak his thoughts. As I have many times in my life, I feel the urge to touch him to comfort, but I know that it is something that would bring pain instead. I shrug, slurping up the rice porridge and gnawing at the crusty bread. It is an unspoken agreement that we'll drop the subject, and Nightcrawler turns away to find his bed for the night. There will be much work again tomorrow; I don't begrudge him the sleep.


	4. Chapter 3

I peer out the cracks in between the boards of the hut, frowning as I see the white snowflakes peppering the ground in the light of early dawn. How is this possible, in the middle of summer? I hear Nightcrawler stirring behind me, and I turn to face him. "Nightcrawler, it is snowing!" I exclaim.

He glances outside with no enthusiasm before shuffling over to the doorway to see if the guards left any food. "Damn pigs," he mutters, scuffing at the dirt floor with a bare foot. "They haven't even thought to leave any food for their other workers. They get so damn involved with Storm's work that they forget us lowly slaves!"

I look at him sharply, even as I am still shocked by the snow. I question him on the identity of 'Storm,' whoever this is that he was speaking of. "She is a mutant who can control the weather," Nightcrawler informs me. "They use her every so often, take off her bracelet so that her powers are at their peak."

I am intrigued by the mention of this "goddess," whose powers are so useful that she can even be let off her leash for a time. "Do they not fear that she will escape, turn her powers against them?"

He laughs mirthlessly. "They feel that she has been broken sufficiently that she won't ever attempt to escape."

I hesitate, my mind easily wrapping around the thought that Nightcrawler's subtleties offers. "Torture?"

"Ja," he agrees, his eyes flaring with an anger that can come only from inside this hellish beast. "If I could rescue the storm maiden, I would, but it is beyond my power. These guards are careful that none of us are able to defend ourselves."

"Maybe someone needs to reaffirm the notion that mutants aren't just cheap labor," I mutter, the boiling anger of my mother's righteous legacy stirring within me.

&&&

The sands of the desert wouldn't feel as hot as this place, deep beneath the earth, boiling from within. Even the small river that runs at our feet hisses with steam. I have been found to be very useful with my supernatural strength (a gift from another) and have been sent here to carve out tunnels, for which use I cannot decipher.

Nightcrawler, quite weak when it comes to physical labor, has remained above the bowels of the earth, continuing with what many mutants still believe is the construction of a dam. In this place that is so reminiscent of a grave, I understand that there is to be no relief for any of us. Why would the humans needs tunnels if they are only building a dam?

Rumors have been circulating among us in this dark place: a high security camp for mutants that will keep us "docile" so that we don't disturb the lives of regular humans. I can see the logic behind this, and am becoming to believe that this is not just a rumor. The materials that are meant for a dam are stockpiled daily, in surplus for later construction, we have been told.

I have been able to speak with a mutant who has been on the half constructed dam, a Japanese man who calls himself Sunfire. His powers are used to meld the rocks together that will make up the wall. For a wall is what Sunfire says it is. Not a dam as we are led to believe, but a wall. Partially constructed now, but it is easy enough to tell that soon the sides will curve, doubling back to make an enclosure of some sort. A pen for homo sapiens superior? That seems to be the most logical explanation, one that I have taken to heart.

But how can we who know the truth escape this hellhole? We are watched constantly, and even if the guards attention wavers, the bracelets that restrict our power are still in place. They can be turned back on in a moment's notice just in case a revolt is staged during the time that we are free to labor for these soldiers.

The heat beneath the ground is stifling, and I know that there can be no escape from this sort of prison. The small stream at our feet hisses with the heat, making it impossible to escape toward its source. We would be boiled alive first, if there was even any way to make it.

But perhaps another, who is immune to heat… Sunfire! Couldn't he find if there is a way to the river's source, and then return to free the rest of us in a different way?

It is some sort of plan, at least. But how to speak candidly to Sunfire?

&&&&

Finally, I see my moment. Sunfire is away from the others in a corner, taking a hasty gulp of water from a bucket that has been left for that purpose. It is a small carrier, containing only a few sips for those who are working in the hottest conditions. The rest of us don't deserve the small gift, I suppose.

Angling myself closer to the corner, I hiss to catch Sunfire's attention. "I have an idea. Way to escape. You up for it?"

"Hai, I am quite tired of this place," the man mutters, wiping at his forehead.

"Which bunk is yours?"

He names the location of the hut he is kept in, and I think hastily. It is not too far away from mine -- I will relay my plan to Nightcrawler, and hopefully he can transport himself to Sunfire's bunk and make plans. If not, I arrange to meet Sunfire near the water again as we part ways so as not to attract attention.

"Red!"

As I am shouldering another rock, I hear the hated voice. Even before I turn to face the short guard, I smell the disgusting odor of his cigars. I glare at him, defiantly dropping the stone to the floor. I remain silent, studying the man's rough-hewn features. What does he want of me this time? He's already mauled my face -- wasn't that enough?

"C'mon," he grunts, grasping my arm at the same instant that my bracelet is reactivated, taking away my powers. He tows me out of the cavern, and I blink in the bright sunlight as I am propelled toward the guardhouse. I have never been inside it before, and I look around as the guard stands just behind me, blocking the doorway. It is bare, except for a few crude chairs and a table that holds yellowing papers, a fraying curtain hiding the biggest portion of the dwelling, most likely concealing the luxuries of the

guards that we mutants aren't permitted.

The short guard whirls me around to face him as the door closes behind him. I cough harshly from the cigar smoke, glaring at him. "You have some unique gifts," Shrimp says. "The commander's been thinking about shipping you off to the slave military he's got shaping up." He pauses as this sinks in to my brain. "Problem is," he continues, "that'll put me at a big disadvantage. Losing you to that brute could really set me back in what

I've already accomplished. So we'll just have to get rid of you before he can get his hands on you."

I stiffen, stepping back quickly. "You mean to kill me so I can't fight in your army of slave labor? Who's the idiot giving his enemies weapons, anyway? Wouldn't take too much thought to turn them against the guards."

"These are people that have been broken, tortured and suffering so much that they have no heart to fight back anymore -- nothing to live for. That's why they aren't a threat."

"So why not just give me up to your master?" I sneer. "You seem to be the subservient type, anyway."

Shrimp snarls at me, and I balance carefully on the balls of my feet just in case he decides to lunge at me. "I've been watching you, Red, and I think you'll fit perfectly into what I'm trying to do here."

"And what's that?"

"Stopping these bastards." Before I can blink, the man raises a hand before my face, and before I can react, three long, silver sharp-looking claws have grown from the back of his hand.

"What the hell?" I react instantly, falling back and raising my hands in defense.

"Relax," he mutters. "I'm a mutant, all right? The claws are a rather

recent addition, added by these creeps in a lab. Quick healing -- my natural ability -- has allowed me to infiltrate their ranks and help a few of our people."

My heart is thumping; this doesn't seem real. Can this cold-hearted guard really be a mutant, hiding himself among the enemy? "Why?" is the only word that stumbles to my lips.

"For our people," he says simply. "Hank -- President McCoy -- sent me here. He knows what's going on, but it isn't going to be so easy to stop them. It's going to take time, unfortunately. And I know that's time that some of these mutants don't have," he says at my look, "but there's no other way. Not even Hank has the absolute power in this country. No one does. It's just a matter of doing what we can, when we can."

I am still slightly scared -- is this guard really on our side, or is he a plant to get me into trouble? As the day goes on, I learn quite a bit from this short-statured man. He has plotted against the guards of this camp for a very long time, even going so far as disarming the bracelets of a few of the detainees who know his secret and are waiting to help. One of these, he says, is Storm, the powerful woman that I heard about from Nightcrawler.

"Why doesn't she just take out the guards, bust out of here, if she's that powerful?" I ask snidely, still not completely trusting this man.

"Because she knows that wouldn't solve anything. Her freedom isn't as important to her as the freedom for the rest of the people who are kept here. She feels much sympathy for the others, something that she has taught me." He shrugged. "Before, I was up for blowing up the whole damn place, but Storm's convinced me that isn't the way. Unfortunately, Hank agrees with her."

I am having a hard time thinking of the president as "Hank", as this man refers to him. He ignores my reluctance, continuing on to tell me about himself. His name is Logan, he has lived for quite a long time and seen horrible things that would turn my stomach. In the time that he has spent on this earth, he says, he has learned the qualities of patience (not so well) and sympathy for his fellow mutants.

As I listen to the story, my tired brain tries to catch him in a lie. How could a mutant successfully infiltrate the ranks of these brutes, working from the inside to tear down their defenses? "Are you affiliated with any of the resistance groups?" I ask, my voice harsh wish disbelief. One wrong step, and I could be dead. What if he's only after the location of the members of White Panther?

"Naw," he grumbles. "Always been a sort of… rogue." He smirks as this word rolls off his lips. "More of a freelance fighter, really. Hank and I are friends from way back, and we both knew somethin' had to be done about this situation. I was all for brute force, but Hank thought we should take a more 'political' approach. Which is why he's the president of the whole damned country now, the fool."

Could Ah-fu have been right? Was our new president really a mutant in hiding? Although this question wants to burst from my lips, I hold back. What if this man isn't telling the truth?


	5. Chapter 4

The hard-packed floor is rough against my cheek as my eyes struggle to open against the harsh light of morning. I groan as I feel the muscles in my back contact; too much work yesterday. As I shove myself into a sitting position, I see Nightcrawler crouched in opposite corner, watching me with his hellfire eyes.

"What?" I grumble as I shuffle to the corner for a drink of our precious water supply. It's better to drink than to void in here, that way you don't get dehydrated out in the sun, or in the hot caves.

"I have been thinking of your words, fraulein," my companion says softly. "Can we truly trust this Logan? He is one of them after all."

I put down the cracked ceramic jar after wetting my lips, and look at him. The worry is not evident in his face, but I can hear it in the tension of his voice. "What kind of choice do we have? We're stuck here unless he can get these damned bracelets off us. Can't make a run for it without our powers, remember?"

Nightcrawler nods in silent assent, but I know that he is still wary. As I am. How can we trust this man, who is to all appearances our enemy? Can we even trust his word that the president is his friend, much less a mutant hiding in plain sight?

&&

My stomach growls as I heft another rock, angling it toward the growling pile. The smell of sawdust is harsh in my nostrils from the lumberyard nearby. I've been given a reprieve from working in the caves, and although the conditions are better on the surface, my change for meeting with Sunfire has been taken. My life was always harsh, but how could I have expected to be a prisoner like this? In my parent's day, mutants were killed on sight; there was a different plan in place now.

Without warning, I feel a blinding pain at the back of my skull. As I go down, I instinctively reach back and grab the wrist of the person who hit me, summoning my powers to take their strength as my last moment of revenge. Just before I black out, I realize that my powers have been neutralized by the bracelet when I feel only the cold flesh and not the warmth of their spirit leeching into me.

&&

This time when I wake, it is to feel an unaccustomed softness beneath my splitting head. My fingers twitch involuntarily, and I feel the slide of a freshly washed sheet against me. Trying to push away the pain that explodes in my head, I crack my eyes and attempt to squint through the light. A groan escapes my dry lips as I try to see through the blinding white glare.

Where am I? What happened? As my eyes slowly adjust, I see only sterile whiteness. My eyes are still mere slits as I try to gain my bearings. The bed I'm laying on isn't very soft, but compared to the hard floor I've been sleeping on, it feels like heaven. The pillow cuddles my aching head, almost eliciting an upward turn from lips that haven't felt reason to smile in ages.

As I slowly gain the knowledge that this room is not a cavern of light, but instead something closely resembling a spotlessly clean hospital room, I wonder at the circumstances that brought me here. Last thing I remember is working at the camp. Surely they wouldn't house their prisoners in such luxury, would they?

The door across the room slides open on silent tracks, and I see a figure in a white coat step forward. Topped by a shock of white hair, the man's face is softly wrinkled, as if with laugh lines. Tender blue eyes catch my peering ones.

"So, you're awake!" The older man moves more fully into the room, and I see another figure behind him. The guard, Logan. Is he responsible for my care in this place? I almost expect him to smile at me, but he doesn't.

"Sorry about the skull bashing, Red," he said in that smoky voice of his that I could almost find sexy. "Had to get you out of there somehow."

"Wh-what?" It almost sounds if _he_ is the one responsible for the blinding pain behind my eyes. But why would he hit me, when he said he wanted to save me?

The doctor is bustling around me, checking the IV that is in my arm, determining the volume of meds left in the plastic bags. Logan stands stiffly by the door, as if he is afraid I will jump at him. "You've been sleeping for quite a while, young lady," the doctor says kindly. "It seems our friend here doesn't know his own strength."

"Just didn't think she'd be so weak," the guard grumbles under his breath, but I catch it.

I glare at him, my eyes spitting fire. "You'd be weak, too, if you were being starved and worked to death." There was an underlay of steel in my voice that he couldn't deny, that made him back off.

The pounding in my head is lessening, probably thanks to my anger. It's always been a way that I cope in a situation I can't define. And this one definitely applies. As the doctor tells me to "take it easy" and to try to eat something after a tray is brought in, I focus on Logan's face. Why would he bring me to a hospital for treatment if he was the one who hurt me in the first place?

The doctor nods silently, apparently reassuring himself of something before slips out of the room. As the door closes behind him, I take a deep breath. Shit, now I'm stuck alone with the guard. He moves forward silently on panther-like feet. His gaze is like cold hard steel, and I remember the blades that thrust from the back of his hands. Can he be trusted?

"Went through a lot of trouble to get you here, Red. Least you can do is thank me."

I narrow my eyes at him. "Where am I?"

He grunts. "Government hospital. Hank arranged it; you'll be safe here." He moves closer, peering down at me. "Just hope you're worth it. Lots of mutants need rescuing from those hellholes."

His words spark a chord in my memory. "Nightcrawler. Where is he? Is he okay?"

"Still at the camp. I can't just spring a lot of you all once; they'd catch on."

I catch my bottom lip between my teeth. "Have they hurt him because I escaped?"

The guard looks at me for a few moments before answering. "You had a bad head wound; you were rushed to medical facilities off-ground. Unfortunately, the doctors couldn't save you. Just one less worker."

Subterfuge; of course. "What part am I expected to play in this plan of yours?"

His eyebrows arch. "Full of questions, aren't you Red?" I briefly consider asking how _he_ is off the grounds undetected, but I hold my tongue. "Hank thinks you'll be useful to us… a leader of the resistance groups on our side? We'll have to get you in contact with your people after you've healed, but--"

"Wait, wait." I hold up a hand to forestall his words. "What people?"

His eyes bore into me. "The White Panthers."

Shit. How did he know?


End file.
